Orientation
by MrsLJG5
Summary: Suzanne Gibbs begins her job with the President of the United States. Part of the "Always on the Run" series by MrsLJG5, an original character introduced in the NCIS series. Update: 17 October, 2014.
1. Orientation

_Author's Note: Each one, teach one moment. Suzanne learns the intimacies of her newest position as Presidential Aide from the President herself and introduced to several members of the staff, including a very bitter, calculating Jane Hamilton. The following is a first meeting highlighting three important aspects of Suzanne Gibbs._

_Suzanne is a modest but confident person;_

_Suzanne makes connections with people not necessarily in the 'circle;' and, _

_Suzanne defines to others her expectations in coworkers and people in general._

* * *

7:30 AM. Generally, the President had breakfast with his family, began his workday at 8 AM. Damon, his past Body, arrived at 5:30, 6 AM for physical training. Linda informed Suzanne of the President's routine and suggested to arrive at 8. An early riser, Suzanne arrived to work 30 minutes beforehand. It was second-nature; why change it, she thought. She was surprised to see the President already in the library.

"Good Morning." The President greeted.

"Good Morning, Mr. President." Suzanne answered. She placed her blazer on the chair, grabbed her pen and note pad and proceeded to his library.

10 minutes. Each workday would begin with a 10 minute conference, Linda shared yesterday. They would go over the day's agenda—add, drop, or completely change the lineup of events. Her job was to remind, more than often go with the President to meetings.

The President inspected her—from the top of her braided locks, neatly bundled in a bun, her dark pant suit, collared shirt, colorful floral scarf, to the choice in footwear in her few steps.

"To be the man, you gotta beat the man: Ric Flair." Suzanne roared with laughter.

"Woo!" Suzanne fueled the jovial conversation, imitating the television legend. "Stylin' and Profilin'…" She turned slowly to showcase her outfit.

"Nice shoes." He seemed surprised that she selected a flat dress shoe, a change from the "dressy" black sneakers she wore at their introduction.

"Thought I'd play it safe, Mr. President, knowing, and I quote, 'you hate my sneakers.'" Suzanne replied; he grinned while gathering books from his bookcase.

"Can you do the job efficiently and effectively?" He asked.

"I'd like to think so." Suzanne stood in the doorway.

"You look the part; you act the part." He nodded. "Then your choice in footwear will not result in job termination." He motioned for Suzanne to come in and have a seat; the President closed his office door.

"Suzanne, I want you to express that originality in your wardrobe too. Just make sure you always have shoes such as the ones you're wearing in your go-bag." He sat down on the couch, papers on the coffee table. He passed a document to Suzanne.

"Yes, Mr. President." She nodded. She glanced at the agenda, noticed a last-minute notation in his handwriting.

"Meet and Greet, Mr. President?"

"Every time we have a new hire, I sponsor a coffee/tea session so that others can get to know their colleague." The President began. "Also, it is a chance to exchange ideas and strategies."

45th President David Owens considered his Administration as one large family. A number of his staff members he acquired personally or followed recommendations from trusted advisors. He made it a policy to introduce every new hire through a breakfast/brunch meeting. He scheduled the meeting her second day of employment as a surprise.

"Today is your début."

"Mr. President, I am not comfortable with a group of strangers." Suzanne shared.

"This is not a request." He replied.

Suzanne sighed heavily.

"The meeting's at 10 AM." The President informed his new aide. "I would like for us to meet around 9:45, so you don't get lost."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"While we're waiting, would you please prepare the following notes?" He placed the file in her arms.

"When would you like it, Mr. President?"

"Tomorrow, please?" He glanced over other notes. "Summary, APA style and double-spaced?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

Suzanne approached the door, dreading that in two hours, she would meet a group of people and forced to engage in conversation.

"Suzanne?"

She looked directly at the President.

"It is perfectly fine to call me David before and after work hours." He shared. "Will you ever be comfortable enough to call me something other than Mr. President?"

"It's out of respect." Suzanne smiled. "You worked for it."

* * *

The rule about general meetings were business first and then a food and beverage break.

"Usually, the meetings are two, three hours long." The President briefed Suzanne. "I work with key people from Scheduling and Advance, Press Corps, and Secret Service on a team."

"Since we all work together…pretty much...coordinating schedules, press releases…"

"You got the idea." He smiled. "Did Linda explain…?"

"This is part of my job responsibility…yes, Sir." Suzanne nodded, jotting down notes. "Now, I understand the Meet and Greet…"

"Be honored…" The President placed his hand on Suzanne's shoulder. "I wrote your introduction."

Chatter filled the room and people entered in. Some grouped together, continuing conversations. Claudia sat with a group of people. Linda chatted with a Service Agent. The President began the meeting with select employees within EOP—Executive Office of the President at exactly 10 AM.

"I would like to introduce another member of our Administration. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Suzanne… Suzanne…"

"Hi, I'm Suzanne Gibbs." She interjected loudly, smiled at the President.

"I stumbled, because she just got married." He laughed. Suzanne nodded. "She was McNamara when I hired her!"

There were polite, soft chuckles from the group.

"Do you prefer McNamara or Gibbs?" He whispered.

"Gibbs is fine, Mr. President."

"Mrs. Suzanne Gibbs…" The President continued. "…is the new Scheduler and my personal aide. Her desk is with Claudia Bailey and Linda Person." He glanced at Suzanne standing there, appearing bashful. He called, motioned for her to come to the podium.

"That's the new 'Body'?" Jane asked.

"Yeah." Claudia read her notes.

The President continued reading Suzanne's accolades from 6x8 index cards, slipping on his glasses.

_"__She is a 2005 graduate from the College of William and Mary with a degree in Government. Mrs. Gibbs is also a graduate of Georgetown University's Public Policy and Law program. She has studied English and American Constitutionality at Oxford's Hertford College. Her expertise areas are Latin American and Southern European Affairs."_ The conversation between Claudia and Jane continued.

"What happened to Damon?"

"Nothing, really. He's working on traveling schedules with Connie. She's accompanying the President and doing his daily schedule."

"How do you feel about her in the office with you and L?"

"Makes sense." Claudia said. "She's in Advance with us…works with the Boss….She needs to know the itinerary…It was her idea."

_"__Suzanne Gibbs has worked for the government since 2006—first as an educator with the Peace Corps and with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service." _

"Good luck keeping up!" Claudia chimed loudly. Others laughed. Suzanne, still with the smile, continued looking at the group.

_"__Please welcome Suzanne Gibbs." _The group clapped. Suzanne walked to the podium, stood there for a moment, gripping the ends, taking deep breaths and surveyed the crowd.

"Thank you, Mr. President. Thank you everyone." She began. "I don't have much to say, except, I am looking forward to this new chapter in my life and working with each and every one of you. Thank you."

* * *

The group applauded. Immediately, the President announced a 30 minute break for coffee and pastries and individual work sessions. The crowd dispersed and Suzanne stood back, merely observed the chatter.

An individual from the kitchen struggled with the carts. She recognized the frustrated groans, the clatter from a loaded cart. With curiosity, Suzanne peeped around the corner and assisted with the buffet stations. It was just second nature to her—unloading, replenishing, and reloading the food and beverage carts.

"I'll dress the table while you replenish." She suggested.

"Thank you."

Suzanne quickly dressed a rectangular table. "The fold will ensure a snug fit on the corners…" Suzanne said, demonstrating the sturdiness of the fold. "Also, it saves the amount of Velcro clips on square tables." She handed the excess back to the man.

"I'm Suzanne, Suzanne Gibbs." She smiled, extending her right hand. "I apologize if I overstepped…"

"Mrs. Gibbs, you're a woman of many talents."

"Suzanne, please?" She smiled.

"Roy Crawley, Craft Services." He vigorously shook her hand. "You're the new hire."

"Thanks for the welcome." Suzanne said. "Everything looks wonderful."

"I hope everything's to your liking." The two glanced at the buffet table.

"It's nice to be appreciated." Roy smiled. "The President informed us of your dietary needs—no pork-your allergies to hazelnuts and strawberries."

"Roy, stay with me for a few moments? Please?" Suzanne suggested. "All these people… I could really use a friendly face." She smiled. "Besides, you need a break."

Others were enjoying the snacks. Suzanne's nerves subsided around Roy.

"You don't do the rich and the powerful, huh?"

Suzanne nodded. "Actually, you probably know more than everyone else in this building. After all, they talked while you're stocking…"

Roy nodded in agreement.

The two stood in a corner, sipping coffee and continued their conversation. The two shared a common story—military family, craft service employees during college. Roy was attending John Hamilton.

"I have a degree in Economics." He shared. "I started here when I was 19, just basically stayed around and worked with Will, the Master Chef until I finish my MBA."

"I did the same thing once I finished undergrad." She shared. "I worked at NCIS for a year, got accepted to Georgetown."

"How long did you work in Craft Services?"

"Five years at NCIS and two years in Williamsburg." She answered. "Decent living…Hell, It helped pay for my house!"

Jane and Claudia were conversing, Jane noticed Suzanne with Roy. She moved in closer to eavesdrop.

Roy again shook Suzanne's hand, smiled once he saw Jane and Claudia approaching.

"Nice to meet you, Suzanne." Roy smiled. "I better go."

Before she could end the conversation, immediately, he left the hall and back to the service elevators.

"Hi, Claudia." Suzanne greeted.

"Mrs. Gibbs. This is Jane Hamilton from the Press Corps." Claudia introduced. "She travels with the President as well."

"It's good to meet you, Ms. Hamilton." Suzanne shook her hand.

"So tell me…Susie, is it?" Jane began.

"Actually, I prefer my given name." Suzanne politely stated, sipping her coffee. "Please call me Suzanne."

"I see…" Jane wanted to intensify the conversation, make it confrontational. "So you think you're too good to be called 'Susie?'"

Suzanne was a little surprised by the reaction. Her eyes shifted slightly while he smile remained.

"Honestly …" Suzanne stood her ground. Remarkably, she smiled and remained polite. "My family calls me Susie. It's a very personal nickname. I hope you can understand the reason."

"I'll just stick to 'Newlywed.'" Claudia smiled, chuckled. "She still has the Newlywed smell…"

Suzanne chuckled.

"Hi, Suzanne." Linda joined the group. "Claudia, Jane…"

"Hi, Mrs. Person."

"Linda, okay?" She placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you always address people as Sir and Ma'am?"

Suzanne noticed the attitude. Still, her mood remained pleasant. After all, she thought, she might need the person.

"I do, actually." Suzanne said. "My parents taught me that manners are a sign of upbringing."

"The President wants you to meet Stephen Dash and Richard Wise from Secret Service." Linda interrupted just in time. She positioned Suzanne to face her. "They work with the President's detail; they're meeting in the last room to the right."

"Oh. Excuse me, ladies." Suzanne said. "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hamilton." Suzanne left

* * *

Suzanne glanced and saw Roy, replenishing the side banquet table. Briefly she left the room.

"Act like you're getting more coffee…" She obliged to the request. Suzanne proceeded to walk down the corridor with Roy.

"Why did you leave?" Suzanne whispered. "I thought it was me."

"You're fine. I saw her coming."

"Claudia?" She chuckled.

"Claudia? No. She's still a little sore you got the position. That'll pass."

"Thanks for letting me know." She said in sarcasm.

The elevator opened and Roy manipulated switches the doors to stay open. "Claudia is on the level."

Quickly she picked up on Roy's disdain on Jane.

"Hamilton…as in the university descendants from John Hamilton University?" Suzanne asked. Roy nodded affirmatively.

"As in 'there's been a Hamiltonian influence in the Presidency for the last 40 years…' Hamilton. She loves stirring up trouble." Roy whispered, pushing the carts towards the service elevators. It was directly across from the meeting room. She peeped inside, noticing the group remained on coffee break.

"A word of advice, since you seem to be on the level…never left your left hand sees what your right hand is doing."

Suzanne sighed. "It's bad enough to be a woman in the workforce, but must we retract our claws and have cat fights? I don't need a fight with someone, so soon."

"It's called jealousy, Suzanne." Roy chuckled. "Get used to it. You're the President's side arm."

Roy was right. After the first orientation, Suzanne's job offered traveling opportunities, even some notoriety. It was a good position to have at age 30.

"As for Claudia, she just wants you to mix it up with Jane so she can get some kikis…" Roy added.

Suzanne chuckled, knowledgeable in her slang. 'Kiki' meant gossip. He left with a friendly smile.

"Bye, Roy!" Suzanne laughed, tried to compose herself for the meeting.

The elevator closed.


	2. Rule 23

Author's Note: I am rewriting and retooling the established story, _Always on the Run,_ with some additional ideas. For those who've followed the Suzanne M. Gibbs character, I thought it would be interesting to add some dimension, some background to her past into her supposed present. This segment is about conflict in the workplace with an antagonistic character, Jane Hamilton. How would someone like Suzanne deal with an individual? The following is a mixture of some humor, some previously published ideas and maybe more insight into Suzanne's past?

Also: _Sophisticated Lady_ by Natalie Cole. I always credit the song and songwriter for inspiring a scene and idea. No intention of plagiarism/credit. Suzanne McNamara Gibbs: MY character.

* * *

Rule 22

**"****Because the way you are, Troop, sometimes, you'll have to suit up and play 60 minutes of old school, shut them up defense."—Solomon D. McNamara Sr.**

_He possessed a unique approach for giving lifelong advice to his only daughter, his youngest child, Suzanne, the one he called "Troop." Why 'Troop?' Maybe, it was to distinguish Susan, his wife, from Susie or Suzanne, his daughter. During a Sunday afternoon football game, beer in hand, homemade nachos on the table and groaning as his team quarterback, yet again, threw a perfect spiral midfield, only to be intercepted by the opposing team. _

_Damn!" He turned down the sound. _

_"__Any given Sunday, Solly…" Susan McNamara chimed from the kitchen. _

_Suzanne was inside, putting away the groceries. _

_"__That's how you blow a perfectly planned offensive, Sue." _

_"__Troop! Come here!" _

_Solomon motioned for her to join him on the sofa and watch the instant replay. _

_"__Look at it! Beautiful pass…and bam! Double coverage on the receiver, picked off!" _

_He turned to his 26 year old daughter, a second year law school student at Georgetown University who came home for a weekend visit._

_"__Daddy, our defense can make them go three and out…" Suzanne had extensive knowledge of the game. _

_He chuckled. "Always, the optimist, believing 'til the last minute…" Solomon and Susan McNamara were generally pleased with their adult child—honest, generally happy, impeccable manners, modest and respectful. His latest concern: 'Troop' was too nice, took too much disappointments in stride. He and Susan wanted to see, wanted other to notice Suzanne just as competitive and driven, not to mention equally or above intelligent. _

_"__Suzanne…?" _

_"__Sir?" She answered. It was rare that her dad addressed her by the first name. _

_"__Your mom and I are concerned about how you are okay with losing that internship on the DC Court…"_

_"__There'll be others." Suzanne replied. _

_"__Clerking for the Federal Court…" Susan began. "Is a good step."_

_"__Sometimes, you're going to have to be mean, give people a jab in the ribs for a 'remember me' opportunity. You need to play dirty when necessary." Susan advised. Suzanne rolled her eyes slightly._

_ "__I know you don't like it…"_

_ "__It's not the end of the world. I'm in the top 10 at Georgetown…"_

_"__Suzanne, don't let anyone or anything push you around." Solomon said, smiled with a father's pride. "Look at you: you're not only beautiful, you're also smart. Double threat." Suzanne chuckled softly._

_ "__Yes, Sir; Yes, ma'am." She smiled._

* * *

It seemed only yesterday since the conversation. It was four years, and a lot happened. Daddy died. She and Mom had a huge argument, severing ties for almost two years, and she married. Suzanne was now Mrs. Gibbs and her challenges were at the White House.

"Are we adults or children, for God's sake?"

The latest workplace rival, Jane Hamilton, fit the criteria for all battles. For the veteran employee, her problem with the 30 year old was culture—or lack of political expertise, she openly teased the newly hired Suzanne. She was not a Washingtonian Politician. The Press Office was often divided into camps, or cliques. Since Suzanne's arrival, the tension gained additional momentum. Either employees openly sided with Camp Gibbs or Jane's Army. No sense for it, Suzanne said over and over.

"Good Morning, Ms. Jane." Suzanne spoke to everyone each morning, always greeted each person with a genuine smile and handshake. Good-natured Southern manners did little to quell Jane's defensive mood. She even invited her for lunch.

"Exactly what's your game, Suzanne Gibbs?"

"None." Suzanne answered while distributing paperwork. "I wondered if you wanted to join me for lunch this afternoon, because we need to discuss the Europe junket."

"The newbie asked me out to lunch! Isn't that adorable?" Jane snickered. Others in the office space, mostly males, shook their heads in disagreement. "No, thank you."

Some inside the office, the young, unmarried women, were members of Jane's entourage, who laughed openly. One even questioned if Suzanne Gibbs was 'for real.'

"She only got hired because of Sec-Nav…" One commented.

"I thought it was her rack…" The second said, visually inspecting her. "I wonder if they're real…"

Suzanne's eyes widen in surprise. She chuckled at the thought—you're talking about me and I'm standing here?

"Oh, they're real…" Suzanne replied. She adjusted her scarf. Slowly, she unbuttoned one, then another from her blouse, showing a slither of cleavage.

"Of course, if you would like to see up close and personal…"

Some observers in the office chuckled.

The two Jane supporters left in a hurry.

"Tell your surgeons what they should look like!"

Jane grabbed her belongings from her desk, with Suzanne, still standing in front of her desk.

"Inform your fan club that I am a show 'em type of person."

"You'll never fit into this world, Gibbs." She whispered. "Stand aside and watch the grown-ups handle it."

"Good to see you too, Ms. Jane." Suzanne gathered the documents. "Please tell everyone I said hello…" Another reason for a Suzanne-Jane rivalry: traditions. Suzanne McNamara Gibbs never deviated from her military and religious upbringing.

* * *

"My parents said to kill 'em with kindness…" Suzanne shared with Linda, her mouth filled a piece of apple. She chewed thoroughly before continuing the next thought. "I might have to place a stake through her heart."

Suzanne was uncertain where Claudia Bailey's allegiances were office wise until that afternoon. Often, she noticed her with Jane in a conversation. More than once, the two shared a chuckle or a whisper. It surprised both Suzanne and Linda when Claudia ate in the conference area.

"Thought you were with your BFF—Jane." Suzanne said.

"Please!" Claudia sucked her teeth in disgust, pulling her yogurt and fruit from her lunch bag. "She's just part of the pay grade."

Linda chuckled.

"Of course! Who can go to 5-star restaurants for lunchtime?"

"I'm assigned to her as a liaison to the Press Corps for EOP." Claudia reminded, combining the fruit with the yogurt and shaking vigorously. "Thank God I don't have to travel with her."

"When I travel, I travel with Lewis." Linda answered.

"Who travels with her?" Suzanne asked.

She knew the answer once Claudia and Linda simultaneously picked up their newspapers.

"Oh, God, no! I'd rather sleep with the President's dog!"

"He's not going." Claudia answered.

"I can arrange for Rufus…."

"Suzanne, all I can say is get ready for Europe." Linda suggested.

* * *

"I'm leaving next week for Europe." Suzanne called her mother. It was the weekly phone call, just as she promised in Williamsburg the month before. So far, Suzanne called Susan four times in three weeks. The current call was advice-seeking. Jethro Gibbs was a wonderful husband but said several times to his new wife that he would not get involved with her work situations. "Don't ask me."

"Southern and Eastern Europe…" Suzanne continued on the landline cordless phone. "Can't…national security, Mom…"

Jethro chuckled.

"If I can, I will…." Suzanne paused, merely listened. "Yes, ma'am…" Suzanne reiterated the environment and the scenarios from the workplace.

"Mom, what do you think about it?"

"Like your daddy said, it's time to play shut-'em up defense.'"

"I thought you didn't know anything about football."

"Girl, please! I know the fundamental rule of the game: be prepared for anything." Susan answered. "I didn't learn the intricacies of the game like you did."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Suzanne, long as you have a game plan…you'll be fine." Susan assured her daughter.

"Thanks for talking with me, Mom."

"Suzanne? Make sure you carry an extra pair of dress shoes, pantyhose, underwear and a slip in your carry-on bag, not your go-bag." Susan suggested. She never gave Suzanne advice on packing, knowing fully well she was well experienced in the department.

"Promise me you'll do that."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Suzanne: you're going to need them."

* * *

_The Last Laugh_

The President was scheduled for two weeks in Western Europe. The first leg of their tour they spent in Scandinavia.

The room assignments were given during the flight. Thankfully, Suzanne learned she had a single suite between the President and Dash. It made sense, being the President's exercise partner and scheduler. Wonderful! It meant her interactions with Jane Hamilton were limited. The President and Suzanne sat together, going through the itinerary line by line. As the plane landed in London, it was brought to their attention that luggage was missing.

"Mrs. Gibbs? Did you have a suit bag?"

"It was with President Owens' suit bag." She answered. "It looks exactly like the President's, except mine has 'S. Gibbs' embroidered on the front and a Georgetown logo."

"What do you mean, you can't find Mrs. Gibbs' bag?" The President was obviously upset. Suzanne remained calm. "We have a Press junket in three hours…" He glanced at Suzanne's casual dress—jeans, sneakers, denim jacket. "Find it, ASAP!"

As the corps settled into their suites, Suzanne learned her belongings were lost in transit. It was discovered that her clothing was in Helsinki, confused with other materials.

Suzanne sat in the seat and watched others depart the plane. No coincidence, she thought. The prime suspect of missing luggage: Jane Hamilton.

**"****Oh…game on, bitch."** She muttered, watching her walk onto the steps.

"Say something, Q?" The President asked, his look, a little of shock. _Did she say what I thought she said? _

"Oh…always a hitch, Mr. President." She said.

"That heifer…" Suzanne nodded her head, still smiling, thinking. She knew of Jane Hamilton's trickery but that…'conveniently' losing my clothes...' trick.

Clothes, according to her, were easy to replace.

Technology made it possible to browse, purchase and pickup. She liked Evans, shopped there while in Oxford years ago.

"Rule 43: Keep a credit card for an emergency."

Within five minutes, she purchased two dresses and a small jacket. An associate dropped off her purchase at the lobby.

"I'll be ready for the junket." She excused herself, taking her bag to the suite. She had about an hour to prepare for the conference. "Oh, I've got something for her…"

* * *

_Sophisticated lady  
Sophisticated lady_

On her I-Pod was a mixture of old school music. She stumbled across a song that seemed to describe her new-found confidence associated with her position:_'Sophisticated Lady.' _ The tune coincided with the new outfit, new job title. She dressed, singing along to the song.

"Glad I listened to Mom." Suzanne reached in her carry on, where her pantyhose, slip, and extra underwear were neatly tucked inside her shoes.

_She's a different lady with a different style  
She stands tall and steady like the Eiffel Tower  
She is hip to politics but loves her jazz_

**_Everyone knows how she got her name, yeah…_**

"Q—let's go!" Dash knocked three times. Suzanne closed the door, joined the President's side. The three walked toward the backstage, discussing last minute notes and changes to the program.

Suzanne Gibbs became a reluctant role model for women and young girls because of the dress. She was irritated once the flashbulbs popped…and her name called in frenzy that winter afternoon in London.

_Oh, ha, she wears knee length dresses with her high heel steppers  
She's not no back stabber but she's sure a pleaser  
She talks quiet and gentle, she acts very cool  
She sticks close to her lover, she obey God's rules, woh_

Tim McGee noticed his boss' wife on the 24 hour news channel. The glimpse of her behind the President of the United States was not unusual. The story featuring only Suzanne Gibbs, however, was completely a surprise.

"Boss, _Suzanne_ is a featured story." Tim adjusted the volume from his chair. Jethro focused his attention onto the wide screen, flashing the term "Fashion Icon?"

**"****The President's aide, Suzanne Gibbs, had this to say…"** The reporter began and an image of Suzanne, dressed in a black sleeveless, mock turtleneck knee-length dress and grayish leather jacket appeared on the screen.

_-"'I purchased the dress at Evans, because my clothes were misplaced during transit…"_

_-"I had the shoes on hand, yes I did…No, I don't think of myself as a fashion icon."_

_-" Are you kidding?!" _

The reporters chuckled to her eyebrow raise, slight lighthearted voice. She did wear the high-heeled steppers, a red wedge heel to compliment her clutch bag.

_ "__I liked the dress, I bought it, and I wore it. End of story.'"_

The flashbulbs popped, reporters screaming additional questions.

_"'__Really?! We're having this conversation? Please focus on both President Owens and the Prime Minister's messages regarding the Global Initiative, instead of what I'm wearing onstage. Both presented very insight viewpoints regarding our planet. Thank you.'" _

_"__Touchdown…and two point conversion…"_ Suzanne whispered off stage in a stunned Jane Hamilton's ear. _"Bow down…"_


	3. Challenge?

**Author's Note: Suzanne Gibbs, Presidential Aide, made a splash in London with an outfit that generated positive press. The following installment, retooled from Always on the Run, discusses how Suzanne battles with trusting the enemy and embracing a new-found "celebrity" status. **

* * *

"Classic Suzanne…" Gibbs chuckled. He continued watching the newscast, noticing the way his wife's outfit accentuated her curves, how it flowed as she moved. The cameras rolled, pictures taken of the two drafting last-minute notes. Suzanne's glasses were off, her eyes lined with a smoky gray eyeliner to appear larger. The hair, wavy, was perfectly wrapped around her earlobe with a wispy side bang covered her left eye. She left with Evelyn, a junior aide and several other Secret Service agents.

"She will not feed into that nonsense."

Suzanne Gibbs' name continued to build on the news cycle. MCRT observed the smaller item, growing into gigantic proportions. Style experts chimed opinion with public policy, focusing on the appearance more than the Presidential agenda. Older pictures were displayed—ones of Suzanne in traditional pant suits, sometimes a tie and flat shoes—the pictures where she blended into the background.

"Personally, her outfit brought a bit of fresh air, some lightness to the Owens Administration…"

"What I think surprised everyone is how physically fit Mrs. Gibbs appears to be…"

"She works out with the President four times a week…" Jethro replied. "Where have you been?"

_"__Oh, damn, Mrs. Gibbs!"_ Tony commented as he glanced at the screen. "They can't handle it, Boss…"

"I have a feeling it was a last-minute change, DiNozzo." Jethro watched the screen.

Tobias Fornell glanced on-screen at his friend's wife, shaking his head approvingly and giving a wolf whistle. It was common knowledge Tobias and Jethro share Diane, an ex-wife. Jethro gave him the stare—the piercing look of seriousness, the unspoken 'you've crossed the line' look.

"S_ei una ragazza aqua e sapone…_" Jethro's response in Italian, simply put: 'naturally beautiful."

"Oh, I agree!"

Jethro smiled when Suzanne appeared on the screen again. He dialed his cellphone and patiently waited for the receiving call to respond.

"Nice dress, Suz."

"Jethro…" Suzanne whispered. She leaned on the Presidential limo, waiting for the President. One foot was placed inside, the other on the ground.

"Long story, but I had to do my rule 43…"

"Let me guess…" Jethro chuckled, eased back into his chair. "Lost luggage in transit?"

"The wrong bags were sent! Half of _my_ clothes are in Brussels, Helsinki…hell who knows?! At least his are with us."

"You look very, very nice." Jethro chuckled.

Suzanne smiled, took a deep breath, finally sat inside the limo.

"Will you wear that when you come home?"

"Not for long…" Suzanne muttered, snickering. "I'll be home in another week…"

The President emerged and sat beside Suzanne. "I need to discuss that at a later time, okay?"

"He's around, isn't he?"

"Say hello to your husband for me, Q." The President said.

"Jethro, I will speak with you later." Suzanne's voice hesitated from embarrassment. Before she could disconnect, the President grabbed her phone.

"Jethro, did you see what your wife was wearing?" The President continued.

"Would you please…?!" Suzanne laughed.

"I know…risqué for a press conference, wasn't it?" When Suzanne finally got her phone, it was silent.

"The line disconnected soon as I grabbed it." The President replied. "Gotcha!"

"How many days until we get back to Washington?" Suzanne moaned.

* * *

"I see you watched film on your opponent…" Jethro began the unusual `pillow talk.'

Jethro smiled, even beamed with pride. His happiness was a result of Suzanne's sudden popularity. The two shared a phone conversation. In London, 5 hours later, but still working hours for Special Agent Gibbs, he wanted to speak with his wife.

"It backfired on her; the camera loves you."

"I really didn't expect all that attention…" Suzanne stretched across the bed, head resting on the pillow. She smiled coyly, tilted her head.

"You're tilting your head."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Gibbs chuckled. "You do that when someone compliments you."

"Jethro…I hope I didn't embarrass you or the Administration."

"I don't think so, Sugar." He chuckled. "DiNozzo and Tobias have now dubbed you 'First Hottie'…the news networks are now calling you 'Ph.D. MD—Doctor of Mass Destruction…'"

The two laughed.

"Look! She talks! She walks! And she has a brain, too, ladies and gentlemen, underneath that rack!" Suzanne sarcastically replied.

"Maybe today…your opponent will back off and realize you're both working for the same cause."

Suzanne heard a knock on her suite door. In London, it was 19:30. She mentioned earlier that either Dash or the President planned to stop by and discuss the schedule.

"Hey, Susie. Ice your knee before your run." Jethro reminded. "It looked swollen."

"The four-inch platforms didn't help the cause…" she laughed. "I wore 'em all afternoon today! I had my flats in my suit bag." When she peeped through the keyhole, it was Jane standing on the other side.

"Jethro, Mrs. Hamilton's at the suite…" She opened the door, reluctantly inviting Jane to come inside. "I will call you back in a while."

"I love you, Suzanne." Jethro said.

"I love you too." Suzanne closed her phone. She tried with a sincere hello; the release was cold, to the point, with the politeness instilled by her parents and the right hint of fatigue.

"Come on in, Jane."

"They found your bag…" Jane handed Suzanne her garment bag. "It was just delivered a half-hour ago. I know you run with the President in the mornings."

"Thank you for bringing it to the suite." Suzanne placed it in the shower area. "I'll go through it in a while."

"What're you doing?"

"I'm going through some preliminary figures for the President." Suzanne tilted her computer. "The 'Twit' account? That's what I wanted to discuss with you before we left?" She slipped off her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose, blinked several times and mumbled with a chuckle how the words seemed to blur altogether.

"It's the first item once we come back. He also wanted photos from this summit on the page as well."

"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry, Suzanne."

Immediately, Suzanne remembered Jethro's rule about apologies from those who suckered-punched you; don't arbitrarily accept at face-value.

"Yeah, right!" She grinned. "I don't blame you. I'd want to go out to the clubs as well…"

She rechecked the written against the screen. "I'll probably get out sometime tomorrow, maybe Saturday."

"You need me to help?"

"Nah…I'm almost done." Suzanne clicked the save button and closed the machine.

"Besides, my husband just called…"

"Right…" Jane said, "I'll let you get back to your 'conversation.'"

"Thanks again for bringing my garment bag." Suzanne escorted Jane to the door—more like rushed her outside her suite. "Sleep well, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Suzanne Gibbs' greatest attribute was her capacity to find something positive in all. She struggled, however, how to find common ground with an individual she could not trust.

"God…." She stared at the bag, chuckled, looking directly above, having an intense dialogue with Her creator. "I'm not underestimating you…"

Soon as Jane left, Suzanne called the main lobby for a favor.

"Hi. This is Mrs. Gibbs in Suite 2109…everything's fine, thank you. I do need one favor though, and it is of a personal nature. Would you please have someone in laundry wash and iron some clothing?"

Suzanne reached in her backpack and clutched onto her well-used wooden rosary. She deviated from the traditional prayer and focused on anger. Praying her rosary, seeking forgiveness, focusing on His word and plan, she asked, knees bowed, eyes tightly closed:

_"__O Lord, must I fear Your wrath? Retribution is Yours by right! May I never dishonor Your Divinity, My __soul__ seeking to maintain Your love. Shape my being into earnest kindness, A reflection of Your perfection. Grant me the __grace__ of self-control, That I may not display any anger. Should I have such an outburst, Instantly remind me to seek redress, For such is offensive to You. Anger is Yours alone to avenge!" _

One plea was not enough. She chanted several more times, _"Grant me the grace of self-control, that I may not display anger should I have such an outburst. Instantly, remind me to seek redress, for such is offensive to you. Anger is yours alone to revenge." _

Suzanne sensed the tension between her and Jane Hamilton was far from finished. It was merely beginning.

* * *

"Yeah, Mrs. Gibbs."

They called her…Mrs. Gibbs! The President sensed distraction from his aide. It was 04:30 when he called her suite.

"Wake up, Sleepyhead! Let's go for a run."

"I…I need to brief Secret Service." She groggily responded.

"Dash is giving the okay. He's with me."

"Is it morning or afternoon?" Suzanne fumbled for her glasses. "Oh…" She noticed 04:40. "I don't have all my gear." She remembered.

"Look in front of the door." She climbed out of bed and for the door. Her small bag was sitting at the front.

"Housekeeping delivered your clothing to me."

"I can explain that, Sir."

"Tell me in 10 minutes, Q." The President said and then disconnected.

"Ugh!" Suzanne growled, her right knee still tender.

"Use your knee brace, Q." The President suggested. "I'll give you 20 minutes."

Suzanne was ready within 10 minutes, meeting with the President in a secured lobby area.

"We're doing the usual?" Suzanne asked with a sharper-than-normal tone. The usual was 3 miles of running.

"We'll do this without the Press Corps and without **_these_**." The President yanked her headphones.

"We need to talk, Gibbs."

"I'm not too much for conversation this morning, Mr. President." Suzanne looked agitated. "Please, let's go for our run."

Suzanne's beginning pace was hard, which threw off the President. She usually began conservatively, a light jog to keep pace with the faster running boss. Her speed was a 9, 9 ½ minutes for a single mile. Suzanne began and continued strong, clocking in at 7.

"Slow down, Q! You're going to blow your left knee too!"

"I got set up." Suzanne said.

"I know you did." The President said. "And it backfired."

The President used the air quotation marks. "Dresses, high-heeled steppers, and the right touch of makeup…the world noticed and it shut her up."

The President chuckled as she looked annoyed.

"ZNN wants to do an interview with me!" Suzanne's facial expression was of pain and panic. "I sometimes speak for you…successfully."

He continued with a daring suggestion.

"Give them what they want, Q. Have Daisy arrange a ZNN exclusive interview while here in England."

Suzanne stopped in mid-stride.

"Mr. President, _you_ are the focus, not your aide." She responded to his idea, breathing heavily, leaned with her hands on her knees. "And without disrespect, I want people to know I'm competent, not just a pretty face or your 'yes' woman."

"Someone in the agency opened the can of worms. Now, it backfired, making you just as popular. Besides, it's the only way the press will leave you alone." Members of the Secret Service nodded in agreement.

The two walked the rest of the way.

"I know you're a private person, Suzanne."

"That's why it makes it so difficult." She sighed. "I thought I was ready for political life…"

"Maybe…you are." The President patted Suzanne on her shoulder, flashing a bright smile. "Think of this as a stepping stone to a political future."


End file.
